


The Art Of Co-Parenting

by almostafantasia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from tumblr: “our pets banged and now one of them is expecting I guess I should know your name au”. Featuring Lexa as the disgruntled owner of a dog expecting puppies and Clarke as a mildly amused neighbour until she realises that she can’t afford vet bills. And Bellamy as the dog who causes all of these shenanigans. Because why not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Of Co-Parenting

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains mild mentions of a dog giving birth, but it's very brief and not particularly graphic. You can also find me over on tumblr, I'm almostafantasia over there too.

The first time that Clarke’s new neighbour comes over to complain about her dog, she brushes it off as a one time thing.

She has an imposing presence, as she stands on Clarke’s doorstep with the mother of all glares on her face. Clarke doesn’t know what she has done to deserve such an icy stare from somebody she swears she has never laid eyes on before, but this girl, despite only being marginally taller than Clarke, looks down on her with her head held high and her green eyes empty of all but scorn. Clarke wants to cower away back into her house, until she remembers that this is _her_ doorstep, and she has no right to feel intimidated in her own home.

“You are Clarke Griffin?”

Clarke doesn’t ask how this stranger knows her name, nor why she appears to be wrestling with a bundle of dark hair held tightly against her chest by tanned arms, though she decides not to ask either question.

“Yes.”

“You are the owner of this dog?”

The stranger thrusts her arms out, and in doing so the fluffy bundle becomes the familiar shape of the dog Clarke has owned since she was fourteen, unmistakeable dark unruly hair almost covering his eyes and wet pink tongue hanging from his mouth as he pants and wriggles in the girl’s arms.

“Bellamy!”

The dog barks in response and leaps out of the girl’s arms, clumsily bumping into Clarke’s legs as he darts into the house behind her.

“He did his business in my front yard,” states the girl.

“I’m so sorry!” gushes Clarke. “My mom asked me to put the trash out earlier, I must have forgotten to lock the gate at the side of the house. Bellamy probably escaped from the back yard through there. I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

At the very least, Clarke expects a smile before the girl departs, if not a thank you, but she gets neither.

“Good. If I ever see that dog again I expect him to at least be toilet trained.”

Without another word, the girl turns and strides away down the drive at the front of Clarke’s house, head still held aloft and a general air of feeling like she’s better than Clarke about her.

“Wait!” Clarke calls out, stepping through the door and onto the doorstep in her socked feet. “You didn’t tell me your name!”

The girl looks over her shoulder once and gives Clarke a look as if to say _nice try_ , before continuing on her way, out of both Clarke’s front yard, and her life.

* * *

 

Or so she’d thought.

Clarke sees her neighbour several times over the coming weeks, going both in and out of her house, which Clarke learns is the one diagonally across the road from her own. Most of the time she’s alone, pulling out of the drive in her small red hatchback and returning at around the same time that Clarke gets in from school. She sees the girl on two other occasions too. The first is in the park near their street; while Clarke takes Bellamy for a walk before school one morning, she spots the girl from across the road out for a run, wearing a tiny pair of running shorts that show off a strong pair of tanned legs. The second time happens while Clarke is out at the local grocery store running errands for her mom, where she almost bumps into the girl in the fruit and vegetable section of the store. Clarke had thought the air in the store had been cold, until she’d seen the positively chilling glare from the other girl when they almost collide, as if it had been entirely Clarke’s fault. (It hadn’t.)

Despite these encounters, as infrequent as they are, Clarke still doesn’t learn anything about the girl with the wild hair, enticing emerald green eyes and the furrowed brow.

* * *

It’s four weeks after Bellamy did his business on her neighbours front lawn that Clarke learns the girl actually goes to the same high school as her.

It’s not a difficult mistake to make. With almost two thousand students, it’s impossible for Clarke to know absolutely everybody in her school and despite having been at the school for three years already, there are still unfamiliar faces in Clarke’s own year group. Despite this, Clarke still finds herself surprised that it takes her so long to see her neighbour at school. The gaze in those unreadable eyes and the sharp cheekbones below them are not ones that Clarke could easily forget, nor miss in a crowd of her classmates, as her neighbour’s face and the glare that sits upon it has remained firmly etched at the front of Clarke’s mind since they first met, haunting her dreams and every living moment that her mind drifts away from whatever task she is supposed to be caught up in.

Clarke spots her during the first track meet of the school year. Clarke has been dragged along against her will by her two best friends, who had insisted that it was “unmissable”, from which Clarke infers that it is not the athletics that her friends are interested in, but rather the male athletes and their tight-fitting sleeveless jerseys. She’s proven correct moments after she takes her seat on the bleachers.

“Mmm, Lincoln is so dreamy,” sighs Octavia, resting her jaw on her hand as she watches the senior boys do their stretches at the near side of the track.

“I can’t believe you just used the word ‘dreamy’,” scoffs Raven. “What are you, an old woman?”

“Fine,” retorts Octavia. “Lincoln looks hot as fuck. I’d let him do nasty things to me on the benches in the locker room. Better?”

“Much,” Raven gives a satisfied nod.

It takes all of Clarke’s willpower not to mime vomiting at Octavia’s words. Instead she reaches into the backpack at her feet and pulls out a small sketchbook and a tin of pencils, deciding to use the brunette girl next to her as today’s model, as per the previously agreed conditions of Clarke accompanying the two other girls. (“No, Clarke. Swap seats with Raven. I want you to draw my good side.”)

And so they remain for the next half an hour, Octavia and Raven discussing the relative hotness of each of the male athletes and Clarke sketching the sharp lines of her best friend’s jaw and the excitement that fills Octavia’s face when she cheers Lincoln on to victory in his race.

“Look, it’s that new girl,” says Raven, just as Clarke is beginning a second sketch of Octavia, this time of the girl’s hand and the way her grubby fingers curl around the water bottle she holds. “Apparently she led her old school to the state championships last year. She’s supposed to be the best in the state at her discipline.”

Clarke lift her head at Raven’s words, never one to miss out on a bit of people watching, and scans the crowd of multi-coloured athletics jerseys at the start for the familiar dark blue and silver of their school. Her eyes fall on the girl in question, finding familiar brown curls pushed up into a messy bun on the top of her head, and green eyes focused on the track ahead as she bounces nimbly from foot to foot.

“ _She_ goes to our school?”

Raven and Octavia’s heads both snap up at exactly the same time, their faces wearing identical expression of confusion.

“You know Lexa?” asks Raven.

_Lexa_. Clarke tries the name out several times in her head, eyes still firmly fixed on the girl that has been nothing but surly and rude on both of their previous encounters, before rolling her eyes. She doesn’t really think she can explain why, but finally being able to put a name to the face that has been following her around for weeks, both inside her mind and out in the real world, leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Perhaps it is the way that Raven speaks of her without a trace of the dislike that Clarke feels for her neighbour.

“I didn’t know her name,” replies Clarke stiffly. “How do you know her?”

“She’s in my math class,” shrugs Raven. “How do _you_ know her?”

“She moved into the house opposite me,” explains Clarke. She hesitates for a moment, before adding, “She’s kind of a bit of a bitch. My dog did a shit on her lawn and she was incredibly rude about it, even after I apologised.”

“Well your dog _did_ shit on her lawn,” laughs Raven. “I’d be rude if that happened to me.”

“She’s hot,” Octavia randomly interjects. “I’d let her do naughty things to me in the locker room too.”

Raven rolls her eyes at Octavia’s words.

“I’m starting to think you really need to get laid. Or maybe you have a thing for locker room sex.”

“Or perhaps it’s both,” winks Octavia suggestively.

“Ew,” Clarke wrinkles her nose and returns her gaze to the track below them, where her grumpy neighbour is now lining up on the start line with the other competitors in her event. “You two are so gross.”

“And you, Clarke,” retorts Octavia, a mischievous glint in her light eyes, “are such a _virgin_. I think it’s you that needs to get laid.”

“With Lexa Hot-Pants down there,” adds Raven.

Clarke knows that her friends are only teasing her in the name of harmless fun, but she still feels a tiny blush rise to her otherwise pale cheeks. She shoots them both a middle finger and pretends to return to her sketching, though with Raven’s words still fresh in her mind, she can’t help but keep her eyes on the track, unable to draw her gaze away from Lexa and the running shorts that are so tiny and tight, that Clarke thinks they should be illegal. (She actually thinks they should be made compulsory attire, but she’d rather eat her own leg than admit that to Raven and Octavia.)

Lexa wins her race by the largest margin of any competitor in the entire meet. Clarke doesn’t get to her feet and scream in celebration when Raven and Octavia do. But she kind of wants to.

She would never admit that to them either.

* * *

When Lexa shows up on Clarke’s door three days later, the brunette is absolutely seething and once again clutching Bellamy in her outstretched hands.

“Your mongrel…” she spits at Clarke, eyebrows furrowed in rage and her green eyes filled with a ferocity that makes Clarke fear for her own life.

“His name is Bellamy,” Clarke interrupts indignantly. “And if he did a shit on your lawn again then I’m sorry, but he definitely escaped on his own this time…”

“No, he was doing much worse this time,” fumes Lexa. “I caught him … he was doing the nasty with _my_ dog.”

Clarke almost laughs out loud at the way Lexa clearly has a problem with saying the word ‘sex’, but she manages to restrain herself to just a smirk. Lexa does not look amused.

“It’s not funny! I’ve warned you about keeping your dog away from my house before, and I sincerely hope for your dog’s sake that this is the last time I have to escort him back here. Goodbye, Clarke.”

Clarke is pretty sure there’s a threat against Bellamy in there somewhere, but she’s still inwardly chuckling to herself at Lexa’s earlier choice of words as the brunette places Bellamy on the floor beside Clarke’s feet. Lexa turns with a dramatic flick of her hair over her shoulder and once again retreats down Clarke’s path, a reminder of their very first meeting,

“Come on, Bellamy,” Clarke says to the dark-haired dog, who has curled up against her socked feet contentedly. The dog slowly rises when Clarke prods him with her big toe and trots into the house ahead of Clarke. “No more ‘doing the nasty’ with the neighbours’ dogs, okay? Or else horrible Lexa will try to kill you or something.”

* * *

Clarke expected Lexa’s dog to be a ratty little thing. She’s been picturing wiry hair, spindly legs and an annoying yappy bark ever since she discovered that her neighbour owned a dog, not having seen the animal herself yet. She imagines the dog to be a spoilt little thing, with a disgusting baby pink collar, if not an entire wardrobe of its own, and only being allowed to eat the very best organic dog food that money can buy.

So when Clarke bumps into Lexa walking her dog at the same time she is out taking Bellamy for a walk in the local park, she does not expect the dog on the end of the lead in Lexa’s hand to be the most gorgeous Golden Retriever she has ever seen.

In hindsight, Clarke’s completely incorrect perception of what kind of dog Lexa would own is perhaps a testament to how badly Clarke has judged Lexa’s character from their few brief encounters before.

Lexa’s dog is _beautiful_. The thick fluffy coat that covers her is a rich golden brown colour and clearly very well taken care of. The fur contrasts against the vibrant red collar around the dog’s neck, and eyes of a deep chocolate brown colour stare up at Clarke. Clarke immediately decides that there must be some fact behind the saying that dogs look like their owners, because the way this dog stands with her head held up high, appearing majestic and regal, is an uncanny reminder of Lexa’s manner of always seeming like she is looking down on Clarke.

“Lexa,” Clarke acknowledges, as the two of them approach each other in opposite directions along the dusty path that follows the perimeter of a rippling blue lake, lined on one side by trees covered in autumnal leaves of every shade between dark green and crispy brown.

Clarke doesn’t intend the greeting to be the beginning of a conversation. She means it nothing more than a simple pleasantry intended to liken her enough to the other girl to reduce Lexa’s likelihood of causing any serious harm to the dog at the end of Clarke’s lead. Bellamy, however, has other plans. Clarke isn’t sure if there’s any concrete scientific proof that dogs can fall in love with each other, though the way that Bellamy starts to behave when he spots Lexa’s dog is certainly an indication that it could be the case. He starts barking loudly, tugging against the lead much harder than he usually does when he sees any other dog, causing Clarke to wrap her second hand around the cord as well just to stop him from tearing it straight out of her hands.

“Bellamy!” shrieks Clarke, suspecting that the look of alarm that crosses Lexa’s face when she sees Clarke’s dog fighting to reach hers is mirrored on Clarke’s own face. “Down boy, down!”

Bellamy has never been the best at following instructions. Clarke has tried and failed on multiple occasions to teach her pet to behave, but even getting him to follow the most basic of commands has been met with only limited success. Sure enough, Bellamy gives a violent lurch forward and tugs the lead right out of Clarke’s hands. He bounds energetically towards Lexa’s dog, his pink tongue hanging out of his open mouth, and collides with the mass of golden fur that is over twice the size of him.

“Clarke!” screeches Lexa, attempting to tug her dog away from Bellamy, who is now sniffing at the bigger dog’s butt with interest. “Get your mutt away from me!”

Clarke does as instructed, dashing after Bellamy apologetically with her arms outstretched ahead of her in an attempt to grab the now flailing lead, but before her fingers can clasp around it, Lexa’s dog and Bellamy simultaneously lie down on the sandy path, Lexa’s dog curled around Bellamy with one paw draped across the dark curls of his back, and Bellamy’s wet nose nuzzled into soft golden hair.

With her arms still stretched out in front of her, Clarke freezes and her jaw drops momentarily, before she relaxes and starts laughing aloud at the sight of the two cuddling dogs.

“I think our dogs are enamoured with each other,” she says to Lexa.

Lexa does not seem so amused. Her glare remains impenetrably icy.

“Well at least they’re not humping this time,” Clarke jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Lexa’s green eyes bore into Clarke’s with a coldness that is becoming so familiar, that it no longer intimidates Clarke as much as it used to. Then, without another word to Clarke, Lexa tugs at the lead in her own hand, gently rousing her dog from the bundle of fur and tangled dog limbs on the path between them.

“Come on, Costia.”

Lexa’s dog lets out a low whine as she gets to her feet, nuzzling her nose into Bellamy’s neck one final time, before trotting away after Lexa.

Like Clarke says, what the dogs have is almost definitely love.

* * *

When Clarke’s school hosts another track meet a couple of weeks later, Clarke doesn’t need much persuading from Raven and Octavia to go and watch. She sits beside them without a complaint, listening to their usual commentary on the aesthetics of the male (and occasionally female) athletes, nervously bouncing her knee up and down with anticipation in the run up to Lexa’s event.

She doesn’t have her sketchbook with her this time. Raven notices and mentions it, and Clarke manages to pull out a fumbling excuse about having left it at home this morning because she didn’t have a spare hand to carry it alongside her gym clothes. Raven seems to accept the flimsy pretence as the truth, and even if she doesn’t, she mentions it no more, instead returning her attention to Octavia lengthy and far too detailed discussions of her apparently now fulfilled locker room fantasies with one of the football guys the previous week.

Lexa’s event comes around soon and is over far too quickly for Clarke to truly be able to appreciate the determined frown on the brunette’s face and the rippling muscles in her legs as she storms to victory.

_It’s not a crush_ , Clarke tells herself, as she gets to her feet and screams in triumph along with the classmates around her as Lexa crosses the line. _It’s not a crush_.

* * *

_It’s definitely a crush_ , are the four words that immediately spring to the front of Clarke’s mind when she opens the front door for a third time to find Lexa standing on her door. The other girl doesn’t seem as angry this time, just exasperated, though Clarke barely notices the frown on Lexa’s face because she’s too busy taking in the tight black leggings, the denim button up that hangs off her slender frame, and the curly wisps of brown hair framing Lexa’s face that have escaped from the bun atop her head. Yep, definitely at least a little bit of a crush.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” asks Clarke, realising that Lexa has been speaking to her and that she has completely missed every word of it.

Lexa sighs impatiently, lifting her hands to rest them indignantly on her hips.

“Costia is pregnant.”

“Costia?”

Seeing Clarke staring at her blankly, still not understanding, Lexa replies, “Costia. My dog. Your dog got my dog pregnant.”

At first Clarke thinks this must be some kind of prank, because there is no way in hell that Bellamy can have managed to impregnate a dog twice his size. But Lexa’s stern expression doesn’t let up, and Clarke remembers exactly who this is standing on her doorstep. The _Ice Queen_ , as Raven and Octavia have so aptly nicknamed Lexa, does not seem like the type for pranks, let alone ones of this gravity. And so Clarke frowns, her eyebrows knit together as she processes Lexa’s words and the fact that her dog, playful and enigmatic Bellamy, who sometimes forgets all of his training and does a shit on the laminated wooden floor of her living room, who destroys the fences in the back yard in his excitement and chews up expensive shoes because he knows no better, has somehow managed to get Lexa’s dog pregnant.

Of course he had to impregnate the dog belonging to the only neighbour that Clarke can’t stand.

“How did that happen?” Clarke asks, dumbstruck.

“I’m sure I don’t have to explain the gory details to you, Clarke,” Lexa says, her words accompanied by a condescendingly dismissive roll of her eyes. She thrusts out her hand, in which she holds a crumpled sheet of paper. “This is the bill for Costia’s first vet appointment. I expect to receive payment for half of this and all future bills. Goodbye, Clarke.”

Clarke is left standing by her front door, her mouth left slightly agape as Lexa walks away once more.

And then her mouth drops open even further when she sees the figure written in a bold typeset and circled, presumably by Lexa, in red pen at the bottom of the sheet in her hand.

* * *

“Bellamy is going to be a father,” Clarke announces, as soon as she drops into the seat beside Raven and Octavia at their regular lunch table, before tearing into the packaging of her sandwich and taking a large bite.

“Bellamy?” queries Raven. “Wait, your dog is going to be a father?”

The two of them stare at Clarke for a few moments, processing her words, then Octavia breaks out into a huge grin.

“Nice one! If we were at yours right now I’d totally give him a doggy high five.”

Raven’s input to the conversation is equally as useless and unsympathetic.

“Your dog officially has better game than you, Clarke,” she says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, no!” Clarke interrupts them. “You don’t understand my pain! I’ll give you one guess which of my neighbours owns the dog that he knocked up.”

Raven and Octavia reach the same conclusion simultaneously, and answer in unison.

“It’s Ice Bitch, isn’t it?”

“Please tell me it’s Lexa.”

Clarke swallows her mouthful of sandwich and reaches out for her water bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip to wash down the food.

“She’s making me pay half of the vet bills,” Clarke says by way of confirmation. “Bitch.”

Clarke isn’t entirely sure why, because she’s fairly certain that somewhere in the friendship agreement is a clause about being supportive towards each other in times of need, but Raven and Octavia seem to be finding endless sources of amusement in Clarke’s current situation. Their laughter bounces off each other; as soon as it seems like one of them will let up, the other collapses into a new fit of giggles. Clarke folds her arms grumpily across her chest and scowls at them both, wrinkling her nose up in disgust when she only narrowly avoids being covered in a spray of Octavia’s cola that erupts from her mouth during a particularly violent fit of laughter.

“Guys, it’s _not_ funny,” whines Clarke. “Of all the dogs Bellamy has to go and get pregnant, it has to be hers. I can’t fucking _stand_ her and the fucking rod she has jammed up her arse!”

Raven and Octavia both go suspiciously quiet at exactly the same time, composing themselves in earnest and immediately returning to eating their respective lunches in silence, as if they haven’t just been laughing at Clarke’s poor fortune at the hand of a misbehaving dog. But when Clarke opens her mouth to ask what has brought on their unexpected stillness, a shadow falls over Clarke’s place at the table. Clarke doesn’t need to ask the other girls who is standing over her, the identically ominous looks in their eyes and the smothered smirks are enough to tell her that.

“Hello, Clarke,” says Lexa coldly. “Do you have the money that you owe me for Costia’s first appointment?”

Clarke’s entire body goes rigid in her seat and a horrible flush rises to her cheeks. Opposite her, Raven glances away, once again stifling laughter and Octavia stares down at her food with far more intensity than a school dinner deserves.

“I’m sorry, Lexa,” Clarke replies as politely as possible, “but I’m having some cashflow problems at the moment. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.”

“Well maybe you should have thought about that before letting your dog molest mine,” retorts Lexa, before striding away from Clarke and her friends, leaving behind a sinking feeling in Clarke’s gut and a nasty taste in the back of her mouth.

“I don’t suppose there’s a chance she didn’t hear me insult her, is there?” Clarke asks her friends hopefully.

“Nope,” says Raven, grinning gleefully.

“Not a chance,” Octavia adds unhelpfully.

Clarke turns her head and watches as Lexa joins the back of the queue for food at the serving counters, ignoring the strange thumping of her heart in her chest.

“Bitch,” she mutters, then returns her attention to the sandwich on the table in front of her.

* * *

Clarke gets a job working at a drugstore in town to earn the money that she needs to pay her half of the vet bills. An argument with her mother ensues, who whilst refusing to pay the vet bills herself because she says that Bellamy is Clarke’s responsibility, also worries that Clarke’s grades are going to drop at school as she struggles to balance homework, college applications and a new part time job. The disagreement ends with Clarke grabbing her jacket from the hook in the hall and storming out of the house, slamming the front door behind her with much more vigour than necessary.

…

“No, no! I told you to the exit on the right!”

“I couldn’t switch lanes because of that truck! Perhaps if you gave me a little more notice next time.”

“I could have done that if you hadn’t been complaining about my choice of music.”

“Who even enjoys listening to this trash anyway? My _mom_ has a better taste in music than you, Lexa.”

They’ve been bickering for the best part of fifteen minutes, Clarke whining about Lexa’s inability to give concise and understandable directions, and Lexa complaining that Clarke is a reckless driver. Lexa had originally claimed that the journey to the vet would only take them ten minutes, but now on their third wrong turning of the trip, it’s looking like it might take twice that.

“Why did I even let you come along with me?” Lexa sighs impatiently from the passenger seat.

“Because if I’m paying half the vet bills, I want to be there at the appointments,” replies Clarke indignantly. “They’re Bellamy’s puppies too.”

“And I pray to myself every day that they don’t turn out to be little savages like him,” Lexa retorts. “Turn right at this junction instead, you can cut back around to where we were before.”

Clarke almost manages to hold her tongue at Lexa’s comment about Bellamy as she follows the brunette’s instructions, signalling and then steering her car into the side road, but Lexa lets out a little huff of disapproval at the way Clarke’s car gives a little uneven jolt as she presses her foot down on the gas (it’s totally not Clarke’s fault that her mom was only willing to buy her the cheapest of second hand cars when she got her license) and Clarke loses her temper again.

“Bellamy is not a savage,” Clarke snaps. “And don’t go acting all snooty about it, as if the fact that your dog is the one carrying the puppies automatically absolves you from all blame. From what I saw at the park, Bellamy’s advances on Costia were hardly unwelcome.”

“They’re _dogs_ , Clarke,” Lexa rolls her eyes. “You speak as if it’s an epic romance novel, but the fact is that your dog got horny and used _my_ dog to alleviate his needs, and now Costia is the one paying the price.”

“ _Costia_ is paying the price?” snorts Clarke. “ _I’m_ the one stuck with you draining money out of my bank account each time your dog needs even the most unnecessary of check-ups. And of all the dogs Bellamy could have got pregnant, of course it had to be the dog belonging to the most annoying uptight bitch on the street.”

“And there is nobody that I would rather co-parent a litter of puppies with less than you,” retorts Lexa, “so at least the feeling is mutual.”

Clarke feels her insides sink at the word ‘co-parent’. She had been hoping that she would be able to pass on all responsibility for the puppies as soon as Costia goes into labour, but Lexa’s choice of words make it sound as if Lexa has permanent plans to make Clarke suffer, even after the birth of the puppies. Permanent plans to make Clarke’s bank account suffer.

Oh _shit_.

* * *

They each make their own way to the next appointment. They sit on opposite sides of the waiting room, a now very obviously pregnant Costia nestling at Lexa’s feet. They only speak during the appointment, and even then, it’s not directly to each other.

Clarke remains behind after Lexa has gone and makes an appointment with the receptionist to get Bellamy neutered, something which she regrets not getting done years ago on a daily basis since Lexa became a permanent fixture in her life.

“Trouble in paradise?” the receptionist asks casually, as she makes a note of Bellamy’s appointment on her computer.

Clarke almost chokes on her own tongue.

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“You and Costia’s owner,” the receptionist elaborates. “You seemed a little frosty with each other in the waiting room.”

“A little frosty?” Clarke parrots back, hardly able to contain her laughter. “I hate Lexa’s guts.”

The receptionist seems surprised, and says, “Oh, I thought you two were together.”

Clarke considers it for a moment, if only to attempt to see where the receptionist is coming from, but the idea of her and Lexa as a couple is simply so ridiculous that she can’t help but laugh aloud at the suggestion. Clarke despises Lexa and all of her self-righteous goody-two-shoes act with every morsel of her being, and she’s pretty sure from the constant bickering and the numerous threats of violence against Bellamy that the feeling is mutual. There’s absolutely no way that they would be able to function in a relationship for even a few minutes, let alone any longer.

Absolutely no way at all.

* * *

The problem is, now that Clarke has had the idea of being in a relationship with Lexa planted in her head by the vet’s receptionist, the little thing that she so determinedly named as a  _not-crush_ all those weeks ago, now becomes a not so little thing after all. Because now Clarke finds herself thinking about Lexa  _all the goddamn time_ , and when she’s not thinking about Lexa in person, she’s thinking about Lexa’s lips, or Lexa’s hands, or Lexa’s abs that are so wonderfully on display beneath the tiny tank top that she wears to run in, and it’s kind of hard to focus on anything for very long at all when Clarke’s mind is just  _Lexa_ .

Clarke realises fairly quickly that she wants to have sex with Lexa.

It’s quite an abrupt thought. She’s never really thought of herself as a particularly sexual person, in fact her entire sexual history comes down to two awkward encounters with her ex-boyfriend Finn, the first one of which had been a drunken exchange of handjobs in the spare bedroom at a house party after the football team won the state championship in their sophomore year. The second time had been a repeat performance whilst sober three weeks later in the back of Finn’s car in the school parking lot after dark, and it made Clarke realise that she must have been absolutely hammered at the party to have possibly come away from the situation wanting to do it again with him.

Lexa, however, makes Clarke question everything she ever thought about her own sexuality.

It’s not the fact that Lexa is a girl. Clarke has been aware of an attraction to both men and women for a while now and it’s never particularly bothered her at all. Lexa is an attractive girl, even when she’s bellowing at Clarke for being an irresponsible dog owner.

_Especially_ when she’s bellowing at Clarke for being an irresponsible dog owner.

Clarke thinks that’s possibly the problem. She and Lexa spend so much time arguing, fiery encounters fuelled with a passionate hatred for each other that Clarke immediately translates into fantasies of _really_ good sex. Fumbling around with Finn had been largely dissatisfying and incredibly vanilla, but Clarke can’t help but wonder what it would be like to argue with Lexa until one of them throws the other roughly down onto the bed to have wild, nasty sex.

And so, with those kind of thoughts threatening to push into Clarke’s mind every time Lexa even so much as glares at her, things are becoming a little bit problematic.

* * *

All fantasies of Lexa are put aside completely, along with Clarke’s  _not-crush_ , on the Wednesday morning that Clarke awakens not to her alarm, but the insistent buzzing of her phone ringing on the nightstand.

“Hello?” Clarke answers groggily, too tired to check the screen to see who is calling at such an ungodly hour.

“Clarke,” Lexa’s panicked voice comes through the speaker of the phone. “It’s Costia. Her whining woke me up. I think she’s gone into labour.”

Clarke rubs at her bleary eyes with that hand not holding her phone in an attempt to wake herself enough to deal with the seriousness of the situation.

“She’s having the puppies?”

“Not yet,” comes Lexa’s reply, and as Clarke starts to properly wake up, the distress in Lexa’s voice becomes so much more evident. “She’s making all these noises and scratching at the door to go out and so I let her out into the yard, but she’s being really restless and scratching at the ground a lot.”

“She’s trying to nest,” Clarke explains, all of the online research that she’s been doing into helping to deliver puppies finally coming in handy. “I’m still in bed but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Can you watch her carefully for me and make sure she’s drinking plenty of water? If you see anything out of the ordinary before I get there, give me another ring. Okay?”

Lexa mumbles a muffled, “Okay,” down the phone and then hangs up, leaving Clarke with the sinking realisation that she’s going to have to spend hours in the company of the girl she despises perhaps more than anybody else, helping to deliver an entire litter of puppies. Life could definitely be better.

* * *

They don’t argue once in the run up to the birth of the first puppy.

Lexa’s primary concern seems to be Costia; whether she is comfortable, whether she needs to be let out into the back yard for fresh air, whether her water bowl needs refilling. Clarke tries to do everything she can, both to help with the dog and to alleviate all of Lexa’s motherly nerves. She helps to move the furniture around in Lexa’s kitchen, then places the large box they’ve decided to use for Costia to nest in the now vacated space.

The result of Clarke’s uninhibited helpfulness is that Lexa sends no snide comments her way. Clarke is even lucky enough to be on the receiving end of a thank you (the first one she’s ever heard uttered from Lexa’s lips, Clarke notes) after Clarke dashes across the street to her own house and returns with a pile of old but clean towels for Costia to nest amongst.

“She’s going to be just fine, you know that, don’t you?” Clarke says kindly, resting a hand on the crook of Lexa’s arm in support. “Her motherly instincts will kick in as soon as the puppies start coming.”

“I know, but…” Lexa trails off and winces as Costia lets out another pained whine. “What if there are complications?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Clarke reassures her. “We’re more than prepared and if something happens that we can’t cope with, the vet is only a phonecall away. Now don’t you go worrying, okay? Costia needs you to keep your shit together.”

Clarke’s words have no visible effect on Lexa, the frown remains firmly on the brunette’s face, green eyes still full of a wide eyed concern for the dog that lies panting loudly at her feet, but Clarke watches as Lexa clenches her jaw and then nods.

* * *

Clarke learns very quickly that Lexa is squeamish.

Lexa has been crouching on the tiled floor next to Costia’s nesting box, stroking her fingers through the soft hair of Costia’s neck and back whilst whispering an endless stream of almost unintelligible encouragements for close to half an hour. Checking in with Lexa every five minutes or so, Clarke has noticed that it seems to be calming Lexa down more than anything else, and so she leaves the brunette to it.

That is, until Costia lifts her back leg to reveal that the first puppy is most definitely on its way.

Lexa peers across, and then immediately turns a pale ghostly white, her eyes widening in horror momentarily, before she tears them away and looks at Clarke.

“Is that…?”

“The first puppy?” Clarke finishes, checking once again that they have everything that they may need, then slipping her hands into a pair of latex gloves and squatting on the floor beside the box, ready to step in should any complications arise. “Yes.”

“But it’s…” Lexa trails off and looks down at the puppy once more, digging her teeth into her lower lip and generally looking like she’d rather be watching anything other than her dog giving birth. “It’s so slimy, and … oh _god_ , I don’t think I can watch this.”

“The puppies are each born inside a sac,” Clarke explains. “Costia knows what she’s doing, don’t worry.”

Worry is exactly what Lexa does though, because Costia chooses that exact moment to give one final push, and the sac containing the first puppy shoots out onto the bundle of towels between her legs. Lexa draws a sharp intake of breath, then squeals as Costia’s instinct kicks in and she starts to chew through the membrane of the sac.

“Oh god, she’s going to eat it!” exclaims Lexa. “Clarke, do something!”

“Don’t worry,” Clarke tells Lexa, though she doesn’t take her eyes off Costia because she’s done enough reading about dog labour to know that there’s still a lot that could go wrong. “This supposed to happen.”

Just moments later, the sac bursts, expelling a rush of clear liquid onto the towels (Lexa winces audibly again at this), and Costia starts licking the tiny puppy frantically. Clarke gets ready with a towel just in case she needs to step in.

“Clarke, what’s happening?” asks Lexa, her eyes wide in panic.

“She’s keeping the puppy warm and trying to get it to breathe,” responds Clarke.

“It’s not breathing? Should it be breathing? Should we call the vet?”

As if on cue, the little bundle of fur lets out a choked squeal and starts wriggling around as its mother continues to lap at the matted fur with broad strokes of her tongue. Clarke reaches into the nest and picks up the puppy with a gloved hand, feeling the warm little body squirm in her grasp as she picks it up and lays it down against the warm fur of Costia’s stomach.

“It’s a boy,” Clarke announces. “That’s the first one done.”

“How many more?” asks Lexa, face still pale and eyes full of worry.

“The vet saw seven more on the ultrasound.”

Lexa visibly swallows, then turns to Clarke and says, “I think I need some air.”

* * *

Having spent about forty minutes alternating between sitting on the swing under a tree, and pacing in wide circles around the back yard, Lexa returns inside shortly after the birth of puppy number three, looking remarkably less pale and much calmer than before.

“How is she doing?” Lexa asks, hovering tentatively in the doorway.

“Come and see for yourself,” Clarke beckons Lexa over, moving out of the way so that Lexa can see Costia.

Lexa crosses the room slowly and peers into the nesting box, and Clarke can’t help but smile as Lexa’s expression shifts from one of worry to one of awe at the sight of the three little bundles of soft golden fur nuzzling into their mother’s stomach as they nurse for the first time.

“Wow,” Lexa exhales softly. “They’re … _wow_.”

Clarke, completely forgetting that she has totally despised Lexa for the last three months, feels her heart swell as Lexa stares down at the rapidly growing little family in wonder.

“They look like Costia,” Lexa says, her green eyes still glazed over in amazement.

“They do,” Clarke agrees with a smile. “Let’s just hope they don’t behave like Bellamy.”

Lexa laughs, like actually _laughs_ , and Clarke thinks that this might be the first time that she’s seen Lexa’s smile and it is _beautiful_. It is Clarke’s turn to gaze in wonder, though at the woman standing beside her not at the adorable new life in the nesting box. Lexa’s eyes are bright, her cheeks are slightly flushed in delight and there’s a smile on her face. When she turns to down at Clarke, the blonde blushes at being caught staring, but Lexa doesn’t seem to notice at all.

“Is Costia okay?”

“She’s fine,” nods Clarke. “She’s a natural mother. She’s done everything right for these three.”

“Five more to go?” Lexa asks.

Clarke nods her head just as Costia lets out a mewling noise and raises her hind legs, as if answering the question themselves by showing them that puppy number four will soon be making its arrival into the world. Knowing by now that Costia probably won’t need much help, if any at all, Clarke’s first instinct is to glance up at Lexa again, whose smile has quickly vanished at the first sight of the sac containing the next puppy.

“Are you okay?” Clarke asks. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

Lexa grimaces slightly, but her complexion is nowhere near as pale as it was during the birth of the first puppy and her features have contorted into a determined frown.

“I’m fine,” Lexa insists. Kneeling down on the floor beside Costia’s head and running her fingertips through the soft hair on the back of the dog’s head, she quietly coos, “You’re doing so well, Costia. I’m so proud of you.”

* * *

Costia starts struggling during the birth of the seventh pup.

It’s been a couple of hours since she gave birth to the first of her puppies, a couple of hours in which she has already managed to push six of them out without too much trouble at all, but it’s now mid-afternoon and Costia has most likely been in labour since the middle of the night. It has without a doubt been the most exhausting day of the poor dog’s life.

Lexa, having witnessed the births of puppies four, five and six, seems to have overcome her earlier squeamishness and throw herself into it fully, embracing her role of sitting near Costia’s head and spurring the tired dog on.

“Come on, girl,” Lexa whispers soothingly, massaging Costia behind her ears. “I know it’s tough, baby, and I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well. Just two more to go. Look at all the beautiful puppies you’ve had so far. They’re here because of _you_.”

Clarke’s no expert on dog communications, and although she’s pretty certain that Costia probably doesn’t understand a word that Lexa is saying, the dog seems to at least feel Lexa’s presence and love, for she stops whining and raises her back leg a little bit, tucking her snout down there to see what is going on.

“Is everything okay?” Lexa asks in concern.

Clarke, who is waiting near Costia’s rear end with her latex gloves at the ready in case she needs to step in, answers, “She’s tired. Poor thing. She might need some help with these last two, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. She’s doing so well.”

Lexa stares at Clarke, her green eyes full of honesty and something else that is unidentifiable yet so intrinsically Lexa, and then says, “Thank you, Clarke. I don’t think I’d be able to do this without you.”

Clarke swallows, then smiles softly at Lexa as she replies, “You’re doing a good job yourself. Costia is much calmer in your presence.”

It’s possibly the nicest they’ve ever been to each other, which Clarke supposes doesn’t really say much, but they’ve been in each other’s company all day without arguing once, and now that there are six beautiful bundles of golden joy in the world and two more still to come all because of their joint efforts, Clarke’s not sure that she could argue with Lexa even if she wanted to.

The moment is quickly broken by an exclamation from Lexa.

“Oh my God, _this_ one is definitely Bellamy’s puppy,” Lexa reaches forward and lifts up puppy number four as he attempts to climb up on top of Costia’s stomach, clambering all over his nursing siblings in the process. Lexa’s fingers wrap around the tiny belly of the puppy and she places him back down against Costia’s stomach amongst the other puppies, where he mewls softly for a moment before latching on once more.

Clarke just laughs.

* * *

By the time that Costia is ready to give birth to the final puppy, Clarke has almost completely forgotten that she ever felt any kind of animosity towards Lexa. It turns out that when they aren’t snapping at each other, they actually work quite well together as a team. Following the tricky birth of the seventh pup, of which Clarke had to burst the sac and cut the umbilical cord because Costia had been too knackered to do it herself, the two of them soothe and encourage Costia together.

It works, or perhaps Costia knows that this is the final one and that she only has to put in one final effort before it’s all over, because the delivery is quick, and before Clarke knows it, all eight puppies are snuggled up in a neat row of golden orange fur against their mother’s belly, filling the room with perhaps the cutest little noises that Clarke has ever heard. Costia, her struggle finally over, laps enthusiastically from the water bowl that Lexa offers her, then lays her head down on the bundle of towels and closes her eyes for some much needed rest.

The difficult part of their job is done, or perhaps, as the co-parents of eight of the most adorable little puppies that Clarke has ever seen, the difficulties are only just beginning, but having made it through today, Clarke feels a small sense of relief that comes with knowing that she and Lexa _can_ actually get along after all.

Glancing across the room to the glossy-eyed brunette standing watch beside Costia’s head, Clarke asks, “How are you feeling?”

“That,” sniffles Lexa, “was the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed.”

Clarke can’t help herself. She crosses the room in an instant and wraps her arms around Lexa, feeling the other girl shudder as tears of joy take over her body. As Lexa sobs into her shoulder, Clarke runs a hand up and down the soft material of the back of Lexa’s sweater and nuzzles her face into wild brunette curls, inhaling a sniff of Lexa’s musky shampoo.

“She did it,” Clarke whispers, feeling Lexa laugh softly in relief at her words, then adds, “ _We_ did it.”

Lexa pulls back just enough to be able to look at Clarke, and then says, “ _You_ did it. I would have been clueless without you present. Thank you, Clarke.”

Clarke realises that she still has her arms wrapped around Lexa in a tight embrace, but just as she goes to extract them from behind Lexa’s back, Lexa’s eyes drop their focus from Clarke’s own blue orbs to her lips, then back up again. It’s only momentary, so brief that Clarke almost wonders if she imagines it, but whether it happened or not, it’s enough to alert Clarke to the proximity of her face to Lexa’s and reminds her that she’s been wanting to take out her frustration with Lexa through a passionate bout of hate sex for a number of weeks.

Is it still considered hate sex if Clarke thinks that she may no longer hate the brunette?

There is barely time for this thought to cross Clarke’s mind, because Lexa’s eyes drop to Clarke’s mouth once more, and then there are soft hands cupping Clarke’s cheeks and even softer lips kissing her own. Clarke lets out a little gasp of surprise, and Lexa takes advantage of that to push Clarke backwards until she’s pressed up against the kitchen counter, Lexa’s warm body against her front.

Lexa is a good kisser, like a _really_ good kisser, and if Clarke had known that Lexa would make her feel this willing to submit her entire life to the brunette after barely ten seconds of mouth to mouth contact, she probably would have wasted less time arguing with her over the course of Costia’s pregnancy and more time doing this. Her hands slide down Lexa’s back and seek out her hips, fumbling with the hem of Lexa’s sweater until her fingertips find the cool skin beneath the material, and she opens her mouth wider, letting Lexa’s tongue brush against her own.

It’s that action that manages to intensify the kiss tenfold, and Clarke finds her hands dropping to Lexa’s ass to pull her in closer, if possible.

They are interrupted, just as Lexa pulls back far enough to tilt her head the other way ready to go in for another kiss, by the clearing of a throat in the door to the kitchen. Lexa steps back immediately, extracting herself from Clarke’s hold, and the pair of them blush at having been caught. The interruption comes in the form of a tall woman that Clarke has seen going in and out of Lexa’s house before, though she has never formally met her, a gleeful little smirk on her face at having caught the two teenagers making out against the kitchen counter.

“Well, I came in to see how Costia and the puppies were doing but it seems like you two are busy with something else.”

“Anya…” whines Lexa, rolling her eyes. Clarke watches in amusement, slightly embarrassed to have been caught with her hands on Lexa’s ass and her tongue in Lexa’s mouth, but feeling a little sense of achievement when she sees the pretty flush on Lexa’s cheeks and the way that the brunette digs her teeth into her lower lip uncertainly, where Clarke’s own lips were pressed just moments before.

“You must be Clarke,” the woman says, stepping into the kitchen fully. “Lexa never shuts up about you.” At Lexa’s growl of protest, she corrects herself, “Or rather, Lexa never stops complaining about your dog. By the looks of things, she doesn’t have much to complain about you.”

“Go away, Anya,” Lexa says with a disgruntled frown.

“What, so you two can carry on defiling _my_ kitchen counters?” snorts Anya. She crosses the room and peers into the box where Costia and her puppies nest blissfully. “Eight puppies? Wow, you two have quite the task on your hands for the next few weeks. You know what, I think I actually might leave you to it. Who knows when you’ll next have the chance for alone time together?”

And with that, Anya wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at the two girls, and then leaves the room with a laugh.

“I’m sorry about my cousin,” Lexa says as soon as Anya is gone. “She can be a pain in the ass.”

Clarke hushes Lexa and her hands reach for the brunette’s hips again, pulling her body flush against Clarke’s so that Clarke is once again trapped between Lexa and the counter.

“She does have a point though,” continues Lexa. “How are we supposed to take care of eight newborn puppies?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Clarke assures her. “But I’ve been thinking about kissing you for weeks and right now all I want is to do it again.”

“You do?” Lexa asks, her eyes wide in surprise.

“Uh huh.”

“Oh wow, well that’s good because I…”

“Lexa. Shut up and kiss me.”

“Mmm. Okay.”


End file.
